Fire

I don’t need anyone’s confidence.
I don’t need anyone to confide in.
no, I’m not shy.
I am wary
and I can only entrust myself to my youth.
brief, innocent, unnoticeable youth.
I don’t intend to get drunk with self-pity.
youth doesn’t like it, doesn’t want it
and does not allow it …
otherwise it won’t believe me
and it will give up on me
and I will grow old too fast without it. without a past.
and I won’t have anyone to confide in,
and that would be as if I had no soul.
no, worse than that.
no feelings … or heart.
something
what is the essence of a man.
 
I said I would trust in youth
and be a man.
Is it because of something that I’m afraid of?
I feel young and old at the same time,
and life is laughing at me in spite
and it kills with the feeling of
missed opportunities.
I’m not created to be a rebel,
to change the world in the process
and to burn out with an unfinished job.
I’m not made to pray with my whole being
before the altar
and to pray and pray and to burn out with
unanswered prayers.
I’m not created to be an individual
in the parade of celebrated common misconceptions
and to celebrate and to be glorified
and to miserably burn out forgotten.
I was created to create
and to be re- created in some way
when the time comes.
my mind is designed to write and I’m willing to wait
for a proper combustion
in the final heat of writing,
in the heat that will burn and burn
forever. with passion. with hope.
 
and nobody is allowed to extinguish the fire of a poet
who burns in it —
he is happy to burn in something
that belongs only to him.



©Tom Del Braco